Storming the Gates
by bamftastik
Summary: During the events of Inquisition, Zevran cares for the Warden while he madly searches for a way to prevent the Calling… and when he starts to hear it.


He woke to an empty bed. The pillow beside him was cool, untouched. Alim had spent the night with his books once again. He was no longer surprised, but that did nothing to lessen his disappointment.

Rolling onto his back, Zevran stretched. It had started as a grand adventure. They had saved the world, the pair of them. He was free of the Crows and, once Alim had turned over the command, he had been free of the Wardens, free of the Circle Tower where he had been taken as a boy. For the first time that either of them could remember, they could do as they pleased. It was more than he had expected to find, more than he deserved. Had he truly been so foolish to think that it would last?

He had sworn that he would follow Alim to the gates of the Dark City itself. The words were as true now as they had been all those years ago when they stood amidst the blood and smoke of Denerim, death looming above them in all its dread certainty. _His_ death had never been the problem. But he'd found that he had something more to fear.

And perhaps the Dark City was not so far off. If the rumors out of Orlais could be believed, the veil between this world and the next was not what it used to be. Some were gathering to fight, joining this Inquisition reborn. He had thought - hoped, even - that Alim would bestir himself, would leave his books behind and leap back into the fray. But he understood now. The mage was fighting a battle all his own, a battle in which - despite his promises - Zevran could not follow.

He was doing this for them, he said. The Calling was something no Grey Warden could avoid, but if anyone could find a way to overcome such insurmountable odds, it was Alim. Zevran had seen him do it time and again. He would not bet against him, even in this.

For years now, the idea had consumed him. It had taken them across the world - seeking out old Wardens or those who had known them, chasing this scholar or that rumor, plundering ancient ruins for scrolls and artifacts. Zevran had been more than happy to tag along. But the real work would take time, Alim said, would take space and seclusion. So they had settled here, in a simple cabin far from the war, far from distraction. Far from _anything_.

With a sigh, Zevran slipped from the bed and tugged on his breeches. It wasn't the restlessness that plagued him, not truly. It was the worry. Alim put on a brave face, but they both knew that time had run out. They had been meant to have thirty years together, give or take. _That_ was the time allotted to Grey Wardens once they had survived their Joining. But they had barely had more than ten. Despite Alim's efforts, the Calling had already come to claim him.

Padding softly toward the main room of the cabin, Zevran found him sitting at his desk, still awake, running his fingers over the pages of an old tome. Alim's back was to him. He was completely engrossed in his work, oblivious to the world. Folding his arms, Zevran leaned in the doorway, taking a moment to savor the sight. The first rays of dawn streaming through the window turned his disheveled hair to red flame and he could see the ink stains on his fingers as Alim dipped a quill and scratched a fresh note on his parchment. Zevran smiled to himself. How had he come to love such a bookish creature? And a mage no less. There was magic here, certainly, though not the kind they taught in their circles. He had seen first-hand the wonders those deft hands were capable of.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and stepped into the room. "Morning already?"

"Is it?" Alim looked up with such surprise that Zevran could not help but laugh. Exhausted as he must have been, those eyes were alert, raking over his bare chest with obvious desire and no small amount of regret. "I'm sorry, Zev, I meant to—"

"Come and steal the blankets, no doubt. Thankfully, you have spared me that."

Alim smirked. "And let you miss another opportunity to complain about the cold? Perish the thought."

"This frigid wilderness was your idea." Carefully shifting aside a stack of books, he leaned against the desk. "Two handsome elves, living all alone in the forest. Shall we raise halla, hm? Perhaps carve handicrafts to sell at the local market?"

He hadn't meant it seriously, but Alim's face fell. With a sigh, he set aside his quill and looked up at him. "You're bored."

Moving to stand behind him, Zevran worked the knots from the mage's shoulders and bent low to whisper in his ear. "A _jest_, _mi amor_."

"Still. You are."

"It is a luxury I have scare experienced, this is true." His hands circled lower, chasing the tension in Alim's back. It seemed there was no end to it. "Have you found anything in these dusty books of yours?"

"Not enough." He winced, the headache coming on sudden and strong. Zevran moved to rub his temples, but Alim's arm jerked suddenly, sweeping the books and papers from the table. "It's never _enough_!"

He had never been one to have a temper, but that had been then, before the Calling. Knotting his fingers in his hair, Alim pressed his palms to his ears, as if trying to block out the demon's song. His shoulders shook with the effort.

Zevran knelt beside him. He may not hear the call, but Alim was not the only one left helpless by it. Neither books nor blades could save them, not from this. He could do nothing but slip an arm around him and hold him until the worst had passed.

When Alim finally opened his eyes, there was more exhaustion there than fear. When they focused on Zevran, he gave a tired smile. "Zev... I don't think I can beat this..."

He tsked. "Such modesty. You are the _Hero of_ _Ferelden_, a Commander of Grey Wardens, slayer of the archdemon." Shrugging, he forced a laugh. "You even bested _me_ once, and that is no small thing."

Alim chuckled. "I remember." But then he sighed, his head sinking into his hands, hiding his face. "I've... been thinking. Grey Wardens have felt the Calling for years. Why should I be any different? I should go down into the deep roads. It's what I'm _meant_ to do. If I stay... what if I can't control it anymore? Zev, I... I think it's time."

"If you truly believed that, you would look me in the eye when you said it."

Alim heard the challenge in his voice and raised his head, screwing up his courage. There was fire in his gaze, even now. But then the words failed him and he sagged again. Zevran drew him down into his arms.

"Hush. You simply need sleep. It will help."

Alim shook his head. "For how long?"

"As long as it takes. What did I tell you the last time you were so intent on dancing with death?"

He smiled at that, reaching up to trace a hand along Zevran's cheek. "That for a chance to be by my side, you would storm the gates of the Dark City itself."

Zevran smiled down at him. "Do not doubt it."

"Zev, I can't ask—"

"Ah, but it is too late for that. What do we do here, if not that very thing? You dare to break what the magisters began, to deny the darkspawn's siren song."

"But what if I—"

"Lose control and stumble out into the night?" He grinned. "I suppose I would have to tie you up."

"You'd like that."

"As did you, once, as I recall."

Tired he was, but this time the smile reached Alim's eyes. Cupping Zevran's cheek, he drew his lips down to his. "Maybe you should remind me."


End file.
